


For I Have Sinned

by Dragestil



Series: We are Broken, We are Whole [1]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Angst and Porn, Fallen Angel Shit, M/M, Rough Sex, Slight Religious Imagery?, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4515438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragestil/pseuds/Dragestil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's best to pretend everything's alright. And sometimes you can almost convince yourself of it too. Tom and Ross much prefer this broken arrangement at the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For I Have Sinned

In the morning, once he had slipped back into his public face, no one would see the fading claw marks that raked his back. His collected countenance would hide the splits in his lip, and the darkness around one eye would be easily mistaken for mere exhaustion. No one would dare get close enough to question the grit beneath roughly filed down nails. Still, he would know. And so would the man with the bluest eyes and the hardest flesh.

The first time they had had sex, it was almost an accident, a fluke. Their usual company had been busy - or perhaps away, neither can recall now - and with the absence the two men found their way into each other’s arms. It was a casual affair in the coffee shop’s storeroom after hours. These days, there was little such levity in their collisions on an empty rooftop under the cover of night.

Tom’s right hand was heavy on Ross’ back where it forced it to bow. His left gripped the gargoyle’s hair ruthlessly and pulled his head back, exposing his neck. Their hips connected with sounds like thunder that made the angel certain any human would have broken already. They were more - and often less - than human, though. There was no love to be found in the way they fucked, only the basest desires for something, anything to feel real.

“I haven’t forgotten last time,” the fallen angel rumbled as he bent himself over ross, hissing at the cool skin rubbing against his raw chest.

“How could you? I’m the best fuck you get,” the gargoyle retorted, though his cockiness was diminished by the wanton moan he released as Tom’s hand found his erection.

“Don’t you just think you’re the greatest?”

Tom twisted his wrist, and Ross keened at the friction of the too tight grip. He became acutely aware of every inch of his body, from his aching neck to his tail wrapped around Tom’s waist. He reached up to pull the angel in for a bruising kiss that was more teeth than lips. The metallic taste of blood blossomed in his mouth, and he knew it wasn’t his by the growl he could feel more than hear. Tom drove himself into Ross, but quickly pulled all the way out, keeping the gargoyle pinned in place.

“You weren’t planning on getting off tonight, were you?” he said, spitting out blood onto the concrete by Ross’ hand.

“Please,” the gargoyle answered, voice surprisingly plaintive for his situation as he rolled his hips back to seek warm skin.

“Why should I?” Tom asked, and he backed away to make Ross turn around. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”

And to his point, the angel did look rough. Despite the cool evening, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and his body glistened with sweat. The sharp end of Ross’ tail had gouged out rivets in Tom’s sides that oozed with congealing blood. One eye was swollen from the fistfight they had had at the start of this whole mess to see just who would get to dominate that night. The smile he offered was menacing and had too many sharp teeth.

“What do you want me to do? Clean it up?”

“Yes,” Tom said, too casually, too easily.

The angel pushed Ross to his knees and motioned to the claw marks on his hips where the gargoyle had grabbed him during their initial struggle. He waited patiently, hands still on the dark-haired man’s shoulders to keep him down, until he submitted. A rough tongue lapped at the broken skin. There was nothing soothing about it, but they both knew this wasn’t about actually attempting to take care of themselves. If they had sought that, they wouldn’t have found themselves consistently drawn back to this deserted roof. In the pain they caused and felt, they sought absolution.

“Drink up, Ross. Not everyone gets such an extensive taste of the divine. People would pay to be in your place,” Tom breathed, carding his fingers almost tenderly through Ross’ short hair and past his small horns. The coldness in his voice negated any sense of true affection. The angel moved his free hand from the gargoyle’s shoulder to casually stroke himself to completion, painting the other man in his cum. “Look how pretty you are. Best not let any of it go to waste.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you keep coming back for it.”

For a moment, they both went still in assessment of where they now stood. Then the animosity and anger faded from the air, and they were alone with their sins. Tom offered Ross a hand and pulled the gargoyle to his feet. They didn’t speak as they carefully wiped themselves down with the towels Ross had thought to bring. There was nothing left to say anyway - at least not that they cared to admit aloud. They had stopped talking about their midnight meetings when people had started to ask question.

“The weekend is going to be busy,” Ross said when he was fully dressed.

“I might be stopping by the shop.”

“I’ll keep the drinks clean.”

“Or don’t, if that’s what you need.”

“I know. I’ll send a message if something comes up.”

“As will I.”

They stood, staring at each other in physical states as close to their internal brokenness as they could manage. In the morning, they would return to their casual acquaintanceship. If Tom wandered into the coffee shop, Ross would make sure the other Sirs only toed the line. And when even the deepest of the angel’s wounds healed, the only trace of their suffering would be the blood and grit left on the roof.

“Take care,” the gargoyle murmured, thought the levity of the phrase and the brisk way the two men shook hands suited nothing about their arrangement.

“And you. Remind the boys that I’m watching,” Tom answered with his hand still lingering in Ross’.

Ross nodded before he turned and headed for the door that led to the stairs. Tom shifted to the edge of the roof, leaning against it as he stared at the sky. Beyond the pollution of the city lights, he knew there lay a sea of stars and a brightness he had all but forced from his mind. In the distance, he could hear the hourly chime of church bells, and a familiar bitterness replaced the taste of blood in his mouth.

“Forgive me, Father…”


End file.
